


Love Me or Leave Me

by KrazyKeke



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Black!Reader - Freeform, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28857945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrazyKeke/pseuds/KrazyKeke
Summary: Hate is not the first enemy of love, fear is. It destroys your ability to trust.
Relationships: T'Challa (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Love Me or Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supremethunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supremethunder/gifts).



There’s no mistaking the fact that you love your man. 

He’s sweet and a gentleman. Steady in all his endeavors, unbelievably intelligent and graceful, yet at the same time, humble. But even with all those qualities, its not a lie to admit that he also got on your damn nerves with his obtuse and oblivious behavior to certain subjects or, more specifically, people. 

“You know what, T’Challa, if you’re not going to at least listen to my opinion–” You began, voice already tired. Tired of repeating yourself and having this conversation one too many times.

Before you could finish your sentence fully, T’Challa cut you off. You side eyed him in disbelief, almost rearing back in offense by the out of character behavior. 

“I am not saying I do not listen to or value your opinion, [Your Name] but my love, you are not listening to me, either. You’re being unreasonable and jealous for imagined slights–”

Since he cut you off first, you felt like being petty right now. “It’s not ‘imagined’!” You retort sharply. “I don’t like the two of you being alone in a room together with Nakia and I’m not there, especially since y’all were ex lovers. Can you not come down from your high horse long enough to see why I would have a problem with that?”

T’Challa’s brow furrowed and he was about to say something but you held a hand up in front of his face. 

“Stop the car.” You order, face forward, gaze resolute. 

“[Your Name]…” T’Challa’s voice became softer, pleading. 

However, you are not in any type of mood to hear it right now. “T’Challa, stop the car. Stop this car right now or swear to God…!” Your voice rose several decibels towards the end of your sentence, you were almost shouting, practically.

Thankfully, T’Challa listened to you this time. 

The car pulled to a slow stop at the curb of a sidewalk. There’s a bus stop station right across the street. Without any hesitation, you unbuckle your seatbelt, hand on the door handle, about to get out. 

T’Challa placed a hand on your wrist. “[Your Name], please. At least let me drive you back home.”

You pulled away without difficulty; T’Challa never held you hostage. Getting out of the car, you closed the door back quietly, instead of slamming it in frustration like you really wanted to. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself.” You state simply. “And apologize to your family for me.”  
You let out a scoff-like laugh. 

“Although I’m sure it’ll be fine, you’re good at coming up with excuses.”

Then you walked away.

For a moment, you thought that T’Challa would get out the car and chase you down like some sort of romantic lead out a movie, but no. T’Challa wasn’t that type of person. He respected boundaries and although he could be stubborn, he tried not to force his way into everything. 

You were half way down the street before you dared to look back and when you saw that T’Challa was indeed driving off, leaving you behind, those tears that you’d so valiantly tried to hold back the entire argument finally, finally fell down your face and cheeks unchecked. 

Today is your and T’Challa’s nine month anniversary and he’d planned to introduce his family to you over dinner. Obviously, things had gone pear shaped. Thinking about it all again only made you more miserable, and the crying that you were doing made it pretty much impossible to see in front of you. Pausing, you sniffled piteously, reaching into your clutch and pulling out your cellphone, dialing your best friend’s number.

**~**

T’Challa is unhappy. 

It’s clear in his demeanor as he hands the keys to the valet and allows the man to take his car to be parked. He enters the establishment his mother had chosen with barely a thank you to the maître d’ who directed him to his family’s table. 

N’Jadaka notices his approaching at once, followed closely by Shuri. 

He just barely manages to sit down before what he feared would happen happens. 

“So, you was supposed to be bringin’ ya girl to this…” Here he crooks his fingers. “‘Family dinner’. I only see you though.” And then he makes a show of looking around. “Unless she had to go the bathroom real quick…” N’Jadaka remarks, playing with a buttered roll, tearing it into bite sized bits.

“[Your Name] won’t be joining us this evening.” T’Challa states simply. That should be the end of the conversation, he even picks up the menu the waitress sat down at his side, careful not to lean too far into his personal space or otherwise be obtrusive.

“But I like her!” Shuri butted into the conversation with a pout. “Why isn’t she here?” There’s genuine puzzlement in her tone and that works to soothe most of T’Challa’s irritation. 

“It is…complicated.” T’Challa phrases delicately. 

N’Jadaka snorts. He chews on his bread, one side of his cheek bloated not unlike a squirrel, and then he reaches out for the pitcher of water at the center of the table, pouring some in his glass. “That’s code for I dun fu–”

“N’Jadaka.” With just a simple chastising gaze, that made N’Jadaka instantly quiet and he drank his water without further comment. “Regardless of the absence of [Your Name], this is still a family dinner that we will enjoy.”

It’s a command. 

And everyone, even T’Challa, murmured their obedience. 

The dinner goes pretty well, even with the absence of his most cherished one. He talks science with Shuri, fends off N’Jadaka’s drinking challenges, and instead asks after his progress with his self-appointed task of being a spoke person at local black community centers, etc. 

Naturally, it cannot stay this content. 

Eventually, inevitably, the whole sordid truth and why [Your Name] isn’t there comes tumbling out of him due to his mother’s careful prodding. 

“I don’t understand why she cannot understand that Nakia and I are just friends now.” T’Challa complains, confusion and hurt lacing his tone.

N’Jadaka snorted. “You just said answered your own question, bruh.”

“I did not.” T’Challa refuted. “And do not call me ‘bruh’, you know I hate that!” He tacked on belatedly.

N’Jadaka squinted his eyes. “When a man and a woman get together…” 

“Enough, umtshana.” T’Challa turned his gaze to his mother and she looked at him with fondness, but there was also minute exasperation in her expression, directed at… him? 

Before he could ask what he had done wrong to upset her so, she spoke. 

“T’Challa, my son. I love you, but [Your Name] has a right to be upset.”

T’Challa frowned, lips parting, about to object but she raised a single hand in an elegant motion and he subsided.

“Your father and I raised you to treat all women with gentleness and respect. To not dismiss or discourage, and otherwise limit any and all attempts to damage her self-worth. However, we were not clear enough in our educating you, I see.” 

It was with herculean effort that he remained silent. 

“’All women being treated equally’ is a rule that must be bended a little, especially when you have met the woman you intend to marry and yet, still have dealings with your ex.” Queen Ramonda lifted her champagne flute to her lips and took a sip of wine. “It makes you seem as if you…hm, to adopt the American colloquium, as it is particularly apt for this… ‘you want to have your cake and eat it too’.”

T’Challa’s jaw dropped. 

N’Jadaka, who’d taken a sip of his drink, simultaneously choked, sputtered, then inhaled, clamping a hand over his mouth to avoid spraying Shuri, just barely. Shuri, a direct witness to his foolishness, could only laugh at him without remorse as he leaned his head on the table, shoulders shaking. 

T’Challa and Ramonda ignored them both.

“So, she thinks… [Your Name] thinks that I still…that Nakia and I are…” T’Challa looked so distressed, like he was about to cry. “Mother, you know I would never!” The words that’s not how you raised me remained unspoken and understood.

“I think you know that, and yes, even [Your Name] deep, deep down, knows that, but does _Nakia_ herself know that you have no intentions of getting back together?” Ramonda offered that little nugget of wisdom. “Let’s put the shoe on the other foot, my son. Hm, let me give an example…” Drumming her fingers on the table, she closed her eyes in thought. Then after a second or two, opened them again. “What if [Your Name] spent a large amount of time, alone and without telling you most times, with say… Lord M’Baku or even your cousin, N’Jadaka.”

White hot jealousy surged through him and he side eyed his cousin who smiled wolfishly, looking devious and ridiculous. For a brief moment, T’Challa’s eye darted to the steak knife on his plate before he shook his head. 

“…I understand, Mother.”

Ramonda merely smiled beatifically. “Good.”

**~**

The next morning, you woke up in bed, alone. 

Your head hurt, your face was sore and puffy from crying all night long. Plainly speaking, you were a mess and tired, maybe even a little hungover, since your best friend suckered you into getting drunk to forget your woes. It was tempting to want to text T’Challa and call him out for being a bastard and an asshole, like she was encouraging you to do, but you resisted, barely. You flat out rejected the idea to call an ex for a booty call. 

Despite everything, even suspicious of Nakia as you was, you ain’t a cheater. 

Although you felt bad and wanted to sleep the day away, you slunk your way to the bathroom and completed your morning ritual of a shower and everything else. Today was about comfort, so you dressed in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, yawning widely as you stumbled downstairs to where the smell of breakfast cooking.

You stepped into the kitchen and expected for your best friend to be the one cooking breakfast but it’s… 

Using your fist, you rubbed at your eyes, expecting it to be a hallucination. “T’Challa?” His name came out a confused mumble, but obviously he heard you. He sat a plate full of pancakes, bacon and eggs on the counter, grabbing a glass and pouring you a glass of orange juice. “What are you, what…”

“[Your Name], sit down, please.” He sounded so serious. You didn’t know if you could handle what he had to say. Wait, hold on, why should you be the one feeling worried or guilty. As you felt the last vestiges of sleep wear off, fully waking up, you geared yourself up, ready to blast him for just letting himself. “I know you want to take me to task, [Your Name], and I promise to let you, but only after you’ve at least had breakfast.”

That’s the moment that your traitorous stomach grumbled. 

Giving him the stink eye, you slunk over to the table. Sitting down, you accepted the fork he gave you with a mumbled thank you, then without hesitation or ceremony, dug in. You were hungry and the food was too good to be tryna act like you didn’t like it.

Once you finished and were full, you were happy. 

There wasn’t an urge to cuss him out…much anymore. 

T’Challa clearly expected that and after waiting for a bit for the chewing out, then realizing it wasn’t coming, tension drained out of him, slightly. “I would like to start this conversation off by saying that I apologize.” You rolled your eyes. “And I know. I _know_ I’ve been…unconsciously belittling you with insincere apologies, and that’s inexcusable, one of the many things I’ve got to make up for, but please, [Your Name]…”

He walks around so that he’s standing in front of you, then he kneels down. 

You bit your lip and almost go to look away, but a touch on your chin stopped you. T’Challa gently made you look at him again. 

“I want you to know that I don’t want anyone else but you. I don’t want to rekindle what Nakia. That is over and done. It has been for years. You are the woman I want to marry, [Your Name].” Your eyes widen and he smiles in that soft, gentle way you’d been missing. 

There’s suddenly a lump in your throat and you feel a stinging at the corner of your eyes. Just as those first few tears escape, you hear him make a quiet choked sound, and then his scent is all you inhale as he stood up, wrapping you in a hug. 

“I know I hurt you and abused your trust. I know it’ll take awhile, but I’m willing to work for it. Will you let me prove it, intanda? That I can be a good man, and good to you, like you deserve?”

You hesitated for only a half second and then you nodded. 

“Thank you, intliziyo yam. I promise… I promise…”

Tighter and tighter, you clutched at each other. 

So easily, love is thrown away for things like this. Yet this time, just maybe, some unknown deity smiled on you both for deciding to take a chance and try again, to be brave.

**Author's Note:**

> The terms of endearment and words in Xhosa were done using Google Translate. If I'm wrong, please tell me!  
> Review and leave kudos if you liked, please <3
> 
> umtshana: nephew  
> intanda: darling  
> intliziyo yam: my heart


End file.
